


Desiderium

by Dearest_Solitude



Series: Wondrous Words [2]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Car Accidents, Car Ride, F/M, Isolated, Loneliness, Strangers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dearest_Solitude/pseuds/Dearest_Solitude
Summary: Count Olaf has been alone for many years. On his way home from reconnecting with an old friend, he runs into someone he once knew.
Relationships: Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf
Series: Wondrous Words [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696213
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Desiderium

**Author's Note:**

> Desiderium  
> Noun. An ardent desire or longing; especially: a feeling of loss or grief for something lost.

It seemed to Olaf that it would never stop raining. In late February the sky had opened up, and it hadn’t stopped since. The grey days, the moldy, damp smell, the white corpses of worms, and the slick, puddled sidewalks did nothing to help the man’s mood. He holed away in his house, which was leaking in more places than he had pots to catch it. The ceiling had grown marbled with brown-edged stains, dissented and swollen with stale water

He left only when he needed to, for essentials, like more gin, or prepackaged meals, or even  _ more  _ gin. He knew he was rotting, a shell of what he once was, the waste of potential everyone had thought he might grow up to be. For some reason, that fact didn’t bother him. Despite their best efforts, he was still alive, and there was nothing they could do about it.

“Olaf, Darling, you made it! When I read your letter, I was so surprised. I assumed you were dead!” The blonde woman adjusted her sunglasses, looking him over with a pursed smile.

“You  _ hoped _ I was dead.” Olaf didn’t sit down. He already knew he wasn’t staying.

Esme did not challenge this. The smile disappeared. “Why did you write me? Why now?”

Olaf shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. He was glad his face was hidden by his own pair of sunglasses, and a brim of an worn, black bowler hat. Imagine him, Count Olaf, in a bowler hat! He really was in a worse state than he thought. “Is it a crime to reach out to an old friend?”

Esme laughed, loud enough some of the other patrons glanced over at the two of them. The grating sound and the extra eyes made Olaf flinch. “I am neither old, nor your friend, Dear. And anyway, I’m done with you and all your unpleasant business.” She leaned forward, lips curling. “I am the second most important financial adviser in this city, and I  _ only _ date women now.”

Olaf blinked. “Congratulations,” he said, glancing down at her hand, where sharp, acrylic nails scraped against the dark wood of the tabletop.

She noticed his look, somehow. “Oh  _ no,  _ Olaf. How impolite! But, since you're curious, they’re usually the ones to go down on  _ me. _ ”

She laughed again, and the obnoxious, twittering noise made Olaf’s stomach turn. This was a mistake. “You know, Esme,” he said, lifting his glasses to look at her. “You’re as awful as I remember.” Then he strode out the door, ignoring her shrieks of displeasure behind him.

Outside it was still raining. Olaf replaced his sunglasses on his face and popped the collar of his coat, sinking deeper into his soggy persona. People with grey and black umbrellas bustled by him on both sides, paying no attention. He checked his watch. 11:32. If he ran, he might be able to make the twelve o’clock train. If he missed it, the next one wouldn’t come by until four.

He stepped down off the curb, and there was the sound of a car horn, and he found himself lying on his side, sopping wet. Pain shot through his hip, his shoulder, and his head, dull and aching. A general murmur arose, people on the sidewalk glancing over their shoulders as they passed him. Surely someone else would help that poor, poor man. Surely he’d be fine.

“Oh my God! Are you alright?” The car lights were blinding, and he could only see a vague silhouette of his assailant. It extended a hand to him. “Can you walk? Should I call an ambulance? I am so, so sorry!”

He grasped the hand, and let her pull him to his feet. His leg ached—so much for catching that train. There was no way he was running anywhere now.

“It’s this awful weather. Can’t see anyone until it’s too late. But—you! Are you okay?”

The woman’s voice sounded familiar. Olaf nodded to her. The fall had fractured his sunglasses' lenses, which were covered in water droplets. He squinted.

“Where were you headed to in such a hurry?” She asked him. Behind her, a car honked. They were blocking the road. She didn’t seem to care.

“The train station,” he told her. He’d picked a voice for this trip, lower than his own, with a vaguely southern tinge. In case he ran into someone he knew. He reached up and wiped his glasses off with a gloved thumb.

The woman glanced at her watch. She had pale skin, and short, dark hair, strands of which were sticking to her now-wet face. “The twelve o’clock train? Oh no, you’ll never make it. I… Why don’t I give you a ride? It’s the least I can do.”

She looked at him, with her big blue eyes, and his head spun. More cars honked, maybe. He couldn’t tell, couldn’t say a word, didn’t realize he was nodding until she beamed at him.

“It’s a bit of a mess, I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to the vehicle. He followed, dumbstruck, elated, stooping low to open the passenger door. She had already ducked inside, grabbing a stack of scribbled on paper off the seat and tossing it into the back. After brushing her hand across the worn leather seat and finding it satisfactory, she sat down and shut her own door. She checked all the mirrors before turning to him. “Buckle up!”

He nodded. The seat belt was unlike any he'd seen before. He clicked it into place and jumped when he felt it tighten on its own.

“Oh, sorry. They’re...well, I’ve um, upgraded most of the things in this car,” she said, shifting into gear, and pressed her foot down on the gas. Someone behind them gave one last “honk” for good measure, and the flow traffic resumed. “It’s totally safe—safer than safe, really. Though maybe I should add something to the outside, in case I ever hit someone again…” she trailed off, brow furrowing.

It was strange for him to sit with her here. His chest grew tight, and his fingers itched to grab something for comfort, like her hand or his knife. As she continued to consider the possibility of safety upgrades for outside the car, he surveyed it’s interior.

It was true, it looked a little haphazard, as if she’d pieced it together from junkyard scraps. Maybe she had. It was a wide car, with grey, leather seats, and ample room for three people and a small child to sit in the back. Well, room if it hadn’t been so littered with trinkets and other trash. Metal contraptions, sewn-together-fabrics, sketch books, uncapped markers, among other things, lay strewn about. Olaf was pretty sure he also could spot a brassiere, two unmatched shoes, and a plate. He could not, however, see the floor.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I don’t usually have riders…” she paused, glancing over at him. He could imagine her taking in his strange appearance, regretting her decision to not leave him out in the street. “I meant to ask earlier. What’s your name?”

Olaf swallowed. “Uhh… Al.” The name, which had once come so naturally to him, felt strange on his tongue. He hadn’t imagined he'd ever use the old pen name again.

“Al? Well, nice to meet you, Al. My name is Valerie DeLeauboil.” She grinned at him, and her cheeks dimpled. He hadn’t realized she’d had dimples. “Al and Val. We match!”

Valerie DeLeauboil. Olaf fingered an empty, yellow candy wrapper someone had left in the hollow beneath the door handle, his mind making quick work of the name. He felt something new expand under his bruised ribs and realized, in a strange moment of dissociation, that the feeling was pride. He had the sudden urge to rifle through her glove box and see what else "Valerie" was hiding from him.

“So. Val,” he said, half hoping she’d recognize him and ruin the moment, half praying that she wouldn’t. “You seem quite good with cars. Are you a mechanic?”

She laughed, long and lovely. His eyes searched the receipts on the dashboard, desperate for another glimpse into the now-strange woman beside him. Most of them were from chinese takeout, a few from a home goods store, and at least one from a pharmacy. She took birth control. With an unwarranted amount of jealousy, he wondered if she was seeing someone.

“I wish! I’ve been working as a concierge at one of the complexes down on Dark Avenue. Do you know it? I’m friends with a man who owns an apartment there, he recommended me for the position. I do make inventions in my free time though! I love tinkering with things, always have.”

A concierge. Who would have thought? It occurred to Olaf then, that he didn’t know where Esme lived anymore.

“And what inventions are you working on?” He asked her. “I’d love to hear about your favorite.”

The question did not make her face did not light up as he expected it would. Instead, she seemed to draw into herself, eyes darkening, lips pinching tight.  _ There she is,  _ he thought.  _ There’s my Violet. _

“Um, well, I’ve been calling them fire detectors. They’re—well, they’re supposed to- do that. Detect fires. If they do, they make, well, a loud noise to alert the house’s occupants, so that they can get out in time.” She stared ahead at the road, knuckles white against the steering wheel.

Olaf expected to feel some sense of triumph. She hadn’t moved on, this woman, she was only pretending, just as miserable as he was! But instead there was a hollow ache in his chest. “That’s brilliant. It sounds like it will help lots of people.” He wanted her to smile at him again, and she did, but it wasn’t joyful.

“Yeah. I hope so.” She let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh, and the car began to slow. “Here we are. Eleven fifty five. You’ll make your train.” Pulling to the side of the road, she reached across him and unlocked the passenger side door. The brush of her forearm against his jacket was more human contact than he’d had in years.

“Thank you for the ride,” he said. If he hid in the back of her car, would she notice him among all the other junk?

“Oh don’t thank me. I hit you with a car, for God sake! It was the least I could do.”

“Well, the  _ least  _ you could do would be to have left me lying in the road.”

She laughed. He loved that laugh. How hadn't he realized that before?

Olaf opened the door. “Good luck on your invention, V—“ He almost slipped up, then, popped his precarious bubble. He thought for a second, that he should. He could watch the horror dawn on her face, the anger. Would she sit there, shocked, sputtering? Would she yell, scream and rage at him? Would she just drive off, stone cold, leaving him all alone again?

He didn’t do it. “—Valerie. When they are finally for sale, I’ll be the first to buy one.”

“Oh, you’re too kind. Thank you, Al. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She paused, her lips parted in thought, and tapped the steering wheel. Her nails were short and neat. “If it turns out you actually  _ are _ hurt, don’t hesitate to stop by. I’ll cover the medical bills. It’s 667 Dark Avenue. Just ask for ‘Valerie.’”

He nodded. He wondered how long he'd be strong enough to stay away.

As she drove off, she waved to him. It was still raining. Olaf stood on the curb, staring down the road after her car until long after the twelve o’clock train had come and gone.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments make my week


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